Rowen's Evil Twin
by Silent Warrior of Truth
Summary: Yeah, I know. Corny title. Well, I couldn't come up with anything better, and I can guarantee that the story is worth reading.


Rowen Hashiba trudged through the forest, wincing slightly as small spears of blazing sunlight found their way through the leaves and pierced his blue eyes. Why am I doing this again? he asked himself, wiping sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. It seemed he had been going on forever, but in reality it had been only three and a half hours since Rowen had left the road. Dry twigs crunched underfoot, and the straps of his backpack were starting to wear on his shoulders. Japan, it was not.  
  
A large, brown rock lay to the side of the small deer-trail Rowen was following, and, deciding it was time for a little break, he plopped down on top of it. He shrugged off his backpack and unzipped it. In the methodically organized interior, it was simple to find the newspaper article that had brought him to The Appalachian Mountains. In size 42 print, the headline screamed 'Strata Gone Crazy!' Underneath was a color photo of someone in dark blue armor surrounded by crushed, smoking tanks. His face was half-turned towards the camera, and an icy smile was pasted on his face. The accompanying article related the story of the strange, armored boy that had appeared half-a-dozen times for no apparent reason other than complete destruction. His armor was identical to the armor worn by Rowen of the Strata.  
  
Rowen tossed his backpack on the ground and frowned, blue eyes closed in thought. It was a bad situation, because the first step he took into any city would have him locked up in jail for the murder of dozens of people that Rowen's look-alike had killed. There was no way he would be able to investigate this for himself, and the other Ronin warriors were occupied elsewhere.  
  
After the dynasty had been defeated, and Talpa's spirit vanquished, there was no need to call upon the White Armor. At Mia's suggestion, the Ronins had seperated and gone to different parts of the earth to act as a type of super-policemen, stopping riots, preventing assassinations, and so on. Ryo of the wildfire had claimed the Asian continent, the largest of the areas. Cye, with his armor of torrent, took charge over the oceans and islands, his main base being Australia.. Because of its heavily-wooded areas, South America had been chosen by Sage of the halo. Kento of hard-rock had taken the African continent, mainly because of the famous Sahara Desert.  
  
Rowen had been stuck with the leftover territory, the North American continent. That was fine with him, as his armor of strata would only feel at home in the sky. The earthly plane didn't matter. Although he had to admit that this area was more than a little difficult to navigate. Laying the paper back inside the backpack, Rowen stood and began following the trail again.   
  
He had chosen to take refuge in the Appalachian Mountains for two reasons. The first was easy. Mountains were close to the sky. Even though the trees hid the sky from view in many places, it was closer to the home of Rowen's armor. The second reason was that, due to lack of communication, there was less of a chance that he would be recognized. Here, he could get a job, find a place to stay, and cool it until one of the other Ronin Warriors had a chance to come help out.  
  
After an hour or so, a trickling sound reached Rowen's ears. The hot sun had not let up, and his throat was parched. Stepping through the trees in the direction of the sound, Rowen came upon a large stream, gushing from an opening in a natural rock structure. He knelt quietly on the soft dirt and dipped his cupped hands into the refreshingly cool water. As he lifted it to his lips and started to drink, something caught his eye. There, hanging on a bush on the opposite side, was a plain brown dress with several patches half-covering holes that had resulted from years of use. Underneath was a small pair of boots in the same worn condition.  
  
Rowen turned his head, looking for the owner. Who did they belong to?  
  
* * * * *  
  
Eighteen-year-old Lacey Corbin stood in the deepest part of the water, only her head left above the surface. The water was cold, but it was a welcome relief from the summer heat. She ducked her head under the water for several seconds, her shoulder-length hair drifting around her face like the tentacles of a jellyfish, then burst to the surface, gasping for breath. Sometimes Lacey was sorely tempted to stay under forever. Then she wouldn't have to go back to the place she was forced to call home.  
  
Thinking of home, Lacey suddenly realized how long she had been gone. "Oh no," she muttered The last time she had been late, she had recieved a beating that had left her sore for weeks. She groped her way to the bank, careful not to slip on the moss-covered rocks, and after climbing out, felt for her clothes.  
  
* * * * *  
  
On the other side of the stream, discreetly turned the other way, Rowen felt his face turn red. He didn't think the golden-haired girl had seen him, but still...  
  
He listened to the sounds of clothes being pulled over still-wet skin, and tugged his hat further down, making sure not even a strand of blue was showing. Rowen waited until he was sure she was fully dressed, then moved around the tree that had been hiding him from view. Maybe he could offer to work for a meal.  
  
The girl was sitting down in the grass, struggling to lace up her boots. Rowen watched her fail time and time again before the realization hit him. She's blind!  
  
* * * * *  
  
In her hurry, Lacey was having more trouble than usual tying her boots. She was considering just leaving them untied and heading for home when she heard something splashing towards her in the creek. Lacey froze, unsure of what to do.  
  
"Need some help?"  
  
The male voice startled her, and she jumped.  
  
"Who are you?" she asked, shrinking back towards the bush that had held her clothes. Her clothes. Even though she couldn't see, Lacey's eyes widened. How much had he seen?  
  
Soft footsteps drew close, and Lacey felt a slight chill as a tall shadow fell over her.  
  
"I'm Ro...um, Steven Case." She heard the hesitation in his voice. He's lying. "Let me get that for you."  
  
Lacey heard the rustle of jeans as Steven, or whoever he was, bent down and took hold of her boot laces. She felt like she was a little girl again, needing someone to do everything for her. "Really, I could have gotten them on my own," she said in a quiet voice as he finished tying them. "Thank you for your help. I need to be getting home."  
  
Lacey stood to her feet, stepped around the bush, and started feeling her way along the path that led to the house. To her surprise, she heard Steven's footsteps following behind her.  
  
"Do you mind if I walk you home?" he asked, his voice still kind.  
  
"I'd rather you didn't. My dad," she cringed inwardly at the word, "wouldn't like me bringing a stranger home. What do you want, anyway?"  
  
* * * * *  
  
"I'm looking for work. I'll do odd jobs in exchange for food. Your dad wouldn't mind having a little help, would he?"  
  
The girl didn't answer, her unseeing green eyes staring straight ahead. Rowen couldn't figure her out. Ever since he had made his presence known, she had been acting like a scared rabbit. He gave her a once over as they walked, as if her appearance would reveal part of the answer. The most outstanding feature of her face were her sad eyes. One would expect that since she was blind, her eyes would be cloudy, but the emerald orbs were as clear as his own. She had delicate cheekbones set high on her face and lips that turned down slightly at the corners, as if she never smiled.  
  
Rowen's eyes traveled down to her hands. They were slender, with long, expressive fingers. As his gaze traveled up her arms, he noticed small blue-and-purple splotches covering them. A quick glance downward showed that the exposed part of her legs were in the same condition.  
  
Rowen took hold of her wrist, gently, but firmly enough that she couldn't pull away. The blood drained from her face when he touched her, and he could feel her start to tremble.  
  
"What happened to your arms?"  
  
"I..I fall alot," she stuttered, not sounding at all sincere. "Please, let go of me."  
  
Rowen shook his head, although she couldn't see him. She had seemed able to get around just fine to him. "Alright." He had been stupid to think that she would just come out and tell a stranger what was wrong. Especially a stranger she seemed so afraid of. He released her wrist, and she began walking again, a little faster, he thought.  
  
"Hey, what's your name?"  
  
The girl paused for so long that at first, Rowen thought she wasn't going to answer.  
  
"Lacey. We're almost there."  
  
A few more steps, and they broke out of the tree line. A small, one-room cabin sat back several yards, and they started towards it. A small gust of wind caught at Rowen's hat and blew it off his head. When he turned to fetch it, the cabin door slammed open. At the noise, Rowen saw Lacey cringe.  
  
The man that stepped out of the cabin had several weeks worth of stubble on his chin, and looked as if he hadn't had a bath in weeks. In his left hand was a whiskey bottle, which explained the swollen appearance of his eyes, and in his right, he held a pistol.  
  
"Lacey, where'ya been?" the man hollered. Before she had a chance to answer, the beady eyes, along with the gun, swung towards Rowen. "So this is whar ya been going every day, huh? Whal, looks like I'll have to learn the both of ya a lesson."  
  
Though he was obviously drunk, the man's gun hand was unbelievably steady. In a flash, Rowen understood where the bruises on Lacey's arms came from. Because of him, she was probably going to recieve more, or worse. In addition to that, it looked like her father was not going to let Rowen off alive. It was armor time.  
  
Rowen's right hand darted towards his pocket, where his kanji of life was kept, but a shot rang out, and a rod of fire was driven into his shoulder. He cried out in pain and grasped the wound with his other hand. Within seconds, a stream of blood had soaked his shirt.  
  
"Steven!"  
  
Lacey's voice barely penetrated the buzzing that filled his ears as he dropped to his knees, and his dazed mind wondered who Steven was. The man's shadow fell over him, and Rowen felt his head yanked up by the hair.  
  
"Don't you go thinking I don't know who you are, blue boy. I'll get a pretty sum of money for turning you in." The man let off a harsh, grating laugh, then kicked Rowen in the side, toppling him into the grass.  
  
Rowen tried to push himself up, but his backpack felt like it weighed a ton, and dark fingers reached for him from the edges of his vision. "Lacey," he whispered. Then, as his blood seeped into the dirt, blackness took control, and he knew no more.  
  
* * * * *  
  
When the explosion sounded, Lacey knew the worst had happened. She heard herself scream Steven's name, and she ran to the spot where she had heard him hit the ground. Kneeling down, she felt his body on the ground in front of her. Her exploring fingers soon found the wound, and she pressed her hand against it hard. The flow of blood lessened, but did not stop.  
  
A ripping sound made her jerk back fearfully, but then she felt a cloth being wrapped around Steven's shoulder.  
  
"I can't get my money if he ain't alive," her father mumbled. The whiskey had started to take effect, and his speech was becoming blurred.  
  
"What are you talking about? What money?" Lacey heard her dad grunt as he lifted Rowen off the ground. She stood and followed the sound of his footsteps.  
  
"Didn't you know, Lacey-girl? This here's a murderer. Now, I don't mind that at all, but there's a reward for anyone that gives information to his whereabouts. I aim to get that money."  
  
Lacey felt her mouth drop open in shock. A murderer? Would a murderer have helped her the way Steven had back at the stream, or have tried to protect her from her father? "Steven can't be a murderer!"  
  
The creak of the front door grated on her senses, and she heard her father's heavy footsteps on the wood floor. "Steven who? This guy is the notorious Rowen Hashiba." A thump sounded, along with a pain-filled groan from Rowen, letting Lacey know that her father had dumped him on the floor in the corner.  
  
"Now keep quiet while I make this phone call." A chair scraped across the floor, and clicking noises were heard as he dialed the police.  
  
The conversation between her dad and the police went unheard by Lacey. She had never heard of the 'notorious' Rowen Hashiba. Was even that his real name? She felt her way to the water basin and wet a washcloth with its cold water. Then she knelt beside Rowen and gently wiped his brow. Lacey didn't know anything about large wounds, but outside, when she had felt the hole in his shoulder, she knew that it was bad enough that he might die.  
  
Why did she care anyway, she wondered. Men were nothing but trouble even if they acted kind, her mind told her. Her heart, however, wouldn't let her be an unfeeling bystander.  
  
A large hand grabbed Lacey's shoulder, startling her. She stiffened, knowing what was coming next. The hand pulled her to her feet, but instead of dragging her outside to the whipping stump, just turned her around to face its owner.  
  
"Lacey-girl, come congratulate your father on the reward he just earned." The whiskey smell was strong on his breath, almost making her gag as he pulled her into his arms. His hand caressed her hair, then moved slowly down her back. Lacey struggled to free herself, but his grip tightened.  
  
"Whassa matter, Lacey-girl? Just relax."  
  
Lacey couldn't take it anymore.She turned her head and clamped her teeth down on his sweaty arm. He hollered, and struck her upside the head, sending her careening into the table. Her hand landed against something cold and hard, and when he grabbed her arm again, she picked it up and swung it with all her might. A loud crash sounded as the bottle connected, and a heavy body fell against her. Lacey wiggled out from underneath him and ran outside.  
  
Once on the porch, Lacey paused to collect her thoughts. She had to get out of here, had to go find help, but she had never been farther than the stream where she had met Rowen/Steven. After a moment's thought, she decided she would try. It was better than hanging around, waiting for her father to wake up.  
  
Lacey entered the woods and crossed the stream, ignoring the added weight of her water-soaked clothes. It was getting colder, and she knew that it must be almost nighttime. The harsh thwock-thwock of a helicopter sounded in the distance, but Lacey ignored it, pushing deeper into the woods. 


End file.
